


Eyes

by genderneutralnoun



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dragons, First Person, Gen, Greatsword/Broadsword, It just kinda came to me, Magic, Magical Dragons, No worldbuilding done before writing this, Protagonist Uses The Bow, Redwall-Inspired Terminology, So They Can Use Weapons And Shit, The Characters Are Dragons, The Dragons Also Have Opposable Thumbs, because that series is the fucking shit, bow and arrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 04:46:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12904365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genderneutralnoun/pseuds/genderneutralnoun





	Eyes

It is her eyes that are most terrifying. 

They glitter with a hard light, even with the open cuts that sawed through scales like a hot knife through butter, and her steps do not falter. The weapon in her hands is a heavy greatsword made of silvery steel and blue adamantine, but she twirls it as easily as if it were made of paper. Over and over it slashes, slicing enemies in two and hissing eerily as the monsters disintegrate. It glows with an unearthly light, and the focusing gem set in the center has changed from a dark blue to a sharp, eye-catching orange. 

I am glad to be on her side. From one of the unconnected stone spires, I fire arrows at the approaching mob, each hit taking one down with a clean shot through the eye. She has the earthbridge under her control, standing on the center pillar where grass was green, trampled, and slick from the gentle rain. The sky was dark with storm clouds, but there had been no more than gentle showers in this area; it was odd hearing the  _ BOOM  _ of thunderclaps in the distance and seeing lightning streak across the sky with only a drizzle falling around my shoulders.

Her sword twirls through an enemy commander, and the mob slows, sizing her up unintelligently. I have never seen her like this before; she was always aloof in a regal sort of way, never showing passion or fire, only icy calculations and logical words. Now, her simple and unconcealing outfit seems to accent thickly-muscled limbs I never noticed before, and her down is slick in the rain, cutting a powerful figure indeed. Her rear limbs are spread apart, toeclaws dug into the ground, and the forepaw that is not holding the sword is alight in balance, ready to fly into any position. Her wings are tucked behind her tightly, ready to spring in for defense or offense.

Her ears are tilted forward, and the way her face creases make the wounds on it only seem terrifying. The long scar of darker feathers down her neck seems more menacing, like a mark of proof that she is a warrior, that she has survived battles before and will do so again. 

To both our surprise, the group of monsters begins to retreat through the bridge. The reason why soon becomes apparent as a dark shape rises out a shadow from the floor, wings and cloak fusing into a long, trailing shape, and neck winding forward then back, like a cobra’s. The figure’s head boasts an impressive crest of pure black feathers, and a smug smile dances across its lips.

“ _ You, _ ” she hisses. I hope that I’m the only one who can see her hands shaking. “You killed her. You will  _ die. _ ”

“I’m afraid it would be awfully inconvenient for me to die tonight, Miraelde,” it says, and its voice is enough to send chills up my spine and for my grip on the pillar to loosen for a moment before I right myself. “Perhaps you will you have your chance to grind me into a frog’s aftermath another time… in the afterlife.”

She snarls. “That’s  _ Lady  _ Miraelde to you, bitch,” she says, and I widen my eyes in surprise. I have never heard her use so much as the word ‘hell’ before.

It cackles. “It won’t matter much longer, my dear.” It steps forward and onto real stone, giving the impression that it is stepping out of the shadow from whence it came. Perhaps that is exactly what is happening. “The second-to-last House  _ will  _ fall tonight, and you shall have only a single safe haven left. And soon, not even that.” The darkness at its feet disappears completely, and its wings stretch forward from its cloak. The cloak weaves around its body like so many snakes, until it forms a deep black suit of armor that shines with a cruel light. Horns grow from just below its ears, twisting forward and up into a pronged, demonic frame, one that I remember being used to catch its prey in the chest before a thick, heavy tail slams the life out of them. As I think of this, its tail rises stiffly and thickens, becoming unnaturally long and uncumbersome, if it weren’t for how it swung it with ease.

It is made from dark magic, uses dark magic, and feeds from dark magic. It is a Seclerical, and one she and I recognize- the very same that killed her mate, her only joy, just hours before.

“ **Prepare to see your love again,** ” it says, and we’re both shocked- it speaks with the power of a true dragon!- but she recovers quickly, raising her sword to face it as it charges.

The first strike is diverted, the force shifted by careful placement of the broadsword, and it slides off it and runs past before digging its claws in and turning, heaving its back sections impressively with nothing but the strength of its forelimbs. It roars, and the grass under her feet shrivels. She merely tilts the sword, as if asking it to try again, harder.

On the second time, its horns catch on the blade. They both struggle for a moment, then she twists her blade and it breaks away, snapping the part it had been caught on in a shower of blue-and-silver dusty particles and a few larger shards. The largest, still resembling the segment it had been, lands with its point buried in the dirt. 

This almost throws off her guard and balance, but she readys a stance just in time for-

-or not quite. Its left horn’s upper, shorter segment buries itself in the blade, just below the focusing gem. Cracks form around it, and as the Seclerical withdraws its horn, the blade falls into dozens of broken segments like a cracked mirror.

It licks its lips to taste her fear. “ **Time to die,** ” it cackles softly. It pauses to savor the moment, and that’s just long enough.

It screams in pain as my arrow finds its mark, and the Seclerical’s howl is ear-scraping like nothing I’ve ever heard before. I don’t have the time to dwell on that as I leap onto the bridge, rolling to break the impact. “Come on, come on!” I say, putting my forepaw to Miraelde’s chest and feeling her heart like a bird trying to burst from its cage there. “We have to go, before they come back!”

I hear a groan from the Seclerical’s body, and I turn to it in horror; somehow, despite the fact that one eye is now ruined and bloody, despite the fact that that shot should have gone straight into its brain and destroyed it,  _ it’s still alive.  _ With a earth-shaking roar, it tears the shaft out of its head, and throws it aside as the it disintegrates from touching its black, cursed blood. 

“You need to go.  _ Now, _ ” she whispers to me. To my surprise, something picks me up around the waist as I feel the effects of a by-demand invisibility spell hide me from view. The something feels like warm, strong arms-  _ her  _ arms, just as invisible as me. But she is also standing alone, facing the beast as its rage deforms it even further. 

It clicks- she created a copy of herself, one to carry me away to safety as she sacrifices herself to save me. I cry out despite knowing I shouldn’t, but the spell muffles any sound I make as well, so it is pointless, pointless, pointless as the copy dives off the bridge and deep into the cold, dark water, holding me as my and its gills activate. For once, I do not think to care where I am going; I think only of Miraelde, and how that grief-fueled anger will be the last way I see her.

It isn’t enough.

But as she always used to say, there is no use wishing for what did not happen.

And of course, that that doesn’t mean it stops hurting.


End file.
